


Five Times Tony tried to Kiss Loki under the Mistletoe (and the one time he succeeded)

by Arvensis5



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas is a great time to work through issues, Countdown to Christmas Eve, Drama, Five Times Tony tried to lure Loki under the mistletoe, Fluff and Angst, Ice Skating, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Midgardian Traditions, Sixth time is a charm?, Snow Globes, The Artist is to Blame, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Has Issues, Tony likes to throw money at his problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:43:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvensis5/pseuds/Arvensis5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York City during the holidays was magical. Well, you know, not <i>magical</i> magical like Loki, but pretty fucking awesome regardless. The city changed in the twinkle of Christmas lights. Like for just a moment the crazy pace of the streets slowed down to a manageable crawl, as everyone took that extra few seconds to look around and embrace the chill in the air, the crisp smell of pine and smog and Starbucks caramel apple cider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Horns of Mischief (Rinelin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/gifts).



> One segment a day until complete. Merry Christmas!!!
> 
> For [Horns-of-Mischief](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/profile), who is also doing some amazing art for this project (AND IT IS TO DIE FOR, SQUEEEEE, I HAVE SEEN THE GORGEOUSNESS) because she has very, _very_ , very dangerous ideas that turn out to be very, very, _very_ inspiring and very, very, very inconvenient timing-wise for both of us. It's like Tetris, but we don't know who wins yet since so far we're both trading ideas and treading water, but half the fun is building it up.
> 
> (But thank you, m'dear Horns, for continuing to push me and coming up with all those damned impossible to ignore images. Cavities, I tell ya, mental cavities.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It came into my dreams last night_   
>  _A great, big man in red and white._   
>  _He told me that it’s gonna be_   
>  _A special year for you and me._

New York City during the holidays was magical. Well, you know, not _magical_ magical like Loki, but pretty fucking awesome regardless. The city changed in the twinkle of Christmas lights. Like for just a moment the crazy pace of the streets slowed down to a manageable crawl, as everyone took that extra few seconds to look around and embrace the chill in the air, the crisp smell of pine and smog and Starbucks caramel apple cider.

Tony ran his fingers across one of the red-gold Iron Man ornaments JARVIS had ordered, when the engineer had out of the blue declared a week ago that he wanted a Christmas tree in the tower this year. Pepper had been so surprised that she dropped her plate, ceramic shattering in all directions.

Tony smirked at the memory, of Pepper and Steve kneeling around to gather the fragments and bumping heads, with Barton laughing in the background and Nat watching him with those too-goddamn-knowing eyes. And Thor and his (reformed? formerly evil?) smoldering-hot brother sitting at the table, completely confused as to why Stark would even want a _tree_ inside the _penthouse_.

It was understandable, he supposed. Christmas hadn’t been a big deal growing up. Not since he was four, at least, when Howard told him he must have been on the naughty list if Santa ‘forgot’ his presents. Most years he worked through the holiday; until Pepper or Rhodey came to remind him to eat or sleep; until Jarvis ordered him Chinese takeaway; until the next year began.

But this year was going to be _different_. He could _feel_ it.

“Stark!” an angry voice rang out. Tony turned to find the tall god standing at the doorway, a piece of green and red pinched tightly between his fingers. “What is the _meaning_ of this?”

“What’s up, Dasher?” Tony stepped towards Loki. “Whatcha got there? You decide to decorate your horns for the holidays or something?”

“I found this,” Loki thrust an object into Stark’s hands, and Tony would have dropped it but for years of practice with small pieces and parts from the workshop. “Pinned to the ceiling above my favorite reading spot.” 

“Yeah?” Tony looked down to find the mistletoe he’d had Barton hang around the penthouse from places only accessible from the vents. “Huh. You know what this is, don’t you?”

“A Midgardian plant,” Loki huffed, “that I _presume_ should not be growing out of your walls, with red ribbons attached to its stem.”

“Yeah, it’s mistletoe,” Tony grinned, and held the plant above Loki’s head, ignoring the taller man’s scowl, “and it’s bad luck on Earth not to—“

The alarms blared to life, filling the penthouse with a deafening roar until Jarvis canceled the signal. Loki raised one elegant eyebrow, and Tony wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. 

“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “The Avengers are requested—“

“Yeah, yeah, I got it Jarv,” he returned the mistletoe to Loki with a wink. “Hang it above Barton’s door, I have a planet to save. _Again_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Underneath the mistletoe_   
>  _Hold me tight and kiss me slow._   
>  _The snow is high so come inside_   
>  _I wanna hear you say to me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see [Horns-of-Mischief](http://horns-of-mischief.tumblr.com)'s amazing, incredible, gorgeous, wonderful art for this chapter [here](http://horns-of-mischief.tumblr.com/post/105617638633/five-times-tony-tried-to-kiss-loki-under-the). NO SERIOUSLY, stop what you are doing and go look, it is the most beautiful thing ever!!! <3 <3 <3

“Stark,” the sound of his name on Loki’s lips was almost a bark, a growling sound echoing across the laboratory.

Tony flipped up his welding mask, blinking as he waited for his eyes to adjust. No, they weren’t playing tricks on him from the weld-flame, Loki looked like a giant blue sapphire statue with ruby-red eyes.

He whistled appreciatively.

“You find this amusing, mortal?” Loki whispered in that vicious-sounding voice, and Tony belatedly realized, first, that he was uncomfortably hard, and second, that the god was holding the snow globe Tony had bought him.

“You come into my lab looking like the hottest Smurf ever, holding my gift, of course I’m amused,” Tony shrugged, casually trying to adjust himself as he removed the welding apron he’d worn to protect against sparks. “By the way, what’s up with the Blue Man Group impression? Magic experiment gone wrong, because I have to say actually, the blue really suits you, like—”

It had been the wrong thing to say, apparently, because moments later Tony had to duck as Loki launched the formerly-precious antique snow globe at his head.

“What the fucking hell, Dancer?!” Tony shouted.

“Your infernal gift—“ Loki choked out, his chest heaving. Tony watched in sick fascination as the god’s skin faded slowly from blue to pale white again, the ice-blue lines disappearing beneath the god’s fair Aesir features. “That _thing_ had the power of winter harnessed inside, like winter within—“

“Loki, it was a fucking _snow globe_ ,” Tony snarled, suddenly angry at the god’s accusatory tone. “If you don’t like a gift here on Earth, the polite thing to do is _not to_ return it by _throwing_ it."

Loki’s glare was enough to quell fire as he turned to leave. “Keep your Earth seidr artifacts to yourself, mortal.”

“Hey, wait! Aww Prancer, don’t go!” Tony protested, getting his courage about him, “It was just a snow globe! An expensive one, yeah, but they’re everywhere.”

He heard Loki’s own studio door slam in the distance, and Tony sighed, reaching up to pluck down the piece of mistletoe that You had hung from one of his shelving units next to the welder.

He looked over at the globe; for a moment, Tony thought, it had continued to snow amidst the wreckage, with a strange pale blue color peeking out from the shattered base. But then the light faded and Tony rubbed his eyes. Huh, he must be tired. Tony toed the remnants, water and glass scattered around the shattered sphere, as Butterfingers maneuvered across the lab with a dustpan in tow.

It had been a _totally_ brilliant plan. Obviously. Couldn’t go wrong, he was a genius after all, epically brilliant plans were his forte.

Except, Tony supposed, when Loki was involved.

After the damn alarm had interrupted his chance to regale Loki with the tradition of mistletoe—and cheekily ask for a kiss so if Loki refused him it would be simple to laugh it off as a silly holiday tradition—Tony fell back on his trademarked Plan B _: Throw Money at the Problem™._ It hadn’t been easy to find an antique snow globe, the kind that had real-looking snow that fell at the right pace, not the glittering swirly crap that everyone sold. But his personal shopper knew no limits, and Jarvis had managed to locate one that fit Tony’s specifications in an odd occult shop in Boston’s North End. A short trip in the suit later and Tony had shown up on the owner’s doorstep, his silver case beside him and decked out in a blue scarf and coat he’d managed to squeeze beneath the travel suit.

The globe had been _perfect_ ; it weighed more than he had expected, with snow and fir trees inside so realistic that Tony almost vomited from being exposed to that much fresh air and nature. He’d tucked it into a protective pouch for the flight back to New York, and it was almost like the flurries followed him home.

He’d left the gift in a red box by Loki’s studio—where Loki did his magic casting or experiments or whatever the hell the god called it when he flipped through those huge dusty books that Thor had brought back from Asgard and played with his special green lights.

The room was archaic-looking inside, with the huge wooden furniture and shelves Loki had selected when he’d first moved in to the Tower, and light fixtures made to look like gas sconces that the mage preferred to read under, along with a mess of comfortable chairs and pillows.

One night, just about when Loki had finally stopped glaring daggers at the Avengers, had stopped twitching nervously every time anyone walked into the room, Tony had snuck into Loki’s workshop with a tumbler of scotch while the god was knee-deep in whatever project occupied his time. And as Tony had sunk into the most comfortable couch he’d ever sat upon, half-hidden by pillows and cushions around him that almost seemed to swallow him whole, he’d watched Loki’s long, elegant fingers dance with green flames, shifting matter in ways that defied logic and physics and Einstein.

Until Loki had spotted him, and kicked him out with a few choice, angry insults.

Later, no matter how hard the genius tried, he couldn’t get inside again. Which was completely ridiculous, because it was still _his_ tower.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that Tony realized it was _that_ moment when his fascination with the taller man turned into something else, something more. When Tony realized his interest was more than a passing intellectual curiosity.

The glass crunched in the dustpan as the bot shifted to carry it away, leaving behind a mess of fresh snow and globe-water on Tony’s lab floor. He turned away, pacing around the space with a single-minded quickness that usually foretold of explosions, before noticing out the corner of his eye that Jarvis had engaged the fire suppression system.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You can stand down, Jarv. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“You mean anything _else_ stupid, Sir?” Jarvis’s voice was so polite Tony thought he’d get cavities, “or did I not see Mr. Laufeyson throw a snow globe at your head?”

“I don’t remember making you this sarcastic,” Tony muttered. “Did I upgrade you while drunk or something?”

“I’ll never tell, Sir.”

“I don’t understand—“ Tony sighed. “Maybe it’s a foolish dream. I mean, who doesn’t like snow globes?”

“If I may, Sir, perhaps Mr. Laufeyson’s dissatisfaction was less about the gift itself, and more about what events transpired when he held the snow globe?”

Tony huffed a frustrated groan.

The box had been gorgeous, bright red paper with a silky green bow the same shade as Loki’s magic, and the god’s name printed across the tag in Tony’s messy scrawl. He’d put it beside Loki’s door late last night, and when Tony had meandered into the lab close to noon the box had been missing from the hallway. He’d not thought anything more of the gift; he figured Loki would eventually seek him out once he bothered to open the box, and there was mistletoe positioned approximately every six feet throughout his laboratory. It was _perfect_.

Until Loki had arrived at his workshop a few hours later, looking decidedly bluer than normal, and demanding to know whether Stark thought it was amusing.

Tony winced.

Okay, so perhaps laughing and saying that the god looked good as a Smurf wasn’t one of his finest moments. But damn if his brain didn’t short-circuit when Loki showed up, blue and red-eyed, holding the snow globe in one hand like it had bitten him. 

Maybe if he watched it again, remembered exactly what he’d said to Papa Smurf, maybe he could figure out what had gotten the god so angry. Or at least, he’d add fuel to his future wet dreams, because holy fucking shit the god was gorgeous, whatever color he wore over his skin.

Tony sank heavily into his chair, before bringing up Jarvis’s video surveillance of his workshop. Jarvis obligingly replayed the scene four times before Tony leaned back to stare at the ceiling. It was _useless_. Big Blue arrived every time, enraged and clutching the snow globe like it both repulsed and fascinated him, before he chunked it at Tony’s head.

“Jarvis, you ever get any surveillance working inside Loki’s magic hovel?” Tony picked up a wrench and tossed it carelessly from hand to hand. 

“Every attempt, including the three just this morning by Agent Barton, has failed.”

“Damn,” Tony dropped the wrench; it clattered to the cement floor of the workshop with a ringing bang that echoed across the ceiling. “Alright. Show me what you got from just outside his door to my lab, then.” 

The holo-screen flashed and Tony leaned forward to study the image. It was grainier than the surveillance images from inside his lab—something to upgrade later—but the god was clearly visible, clutching the globe in one hand as his other made experimental waves of green that attached to the globe for mere moments before dissipating. And Loki was decidedly blue, and visibly upset as he stared at his reflection in the elevator doors, before the god charged into Tony’s lab.

“Huh,” Tony scratched his chin. “Doesn’t like snow, or doesn’t like the blue paint?” Tony drummed his fingers across the desk. “Jarvis, start a new project. Private server. Get me everything we know about Asgard, about, ah, what was it that Thor said? That cold one?”

“If you are referring to Norse Mythology, I believe you are asking after Jötunheimr, Sir.” 

“Yeah, that one,” Tony waved a hand. “Everything on that. And everything on Earth ever having magic, too.”

He stood quickly, pacing across the room to the dustbin where Butterfingers stood, the pan stuck in the robot’s arm on the rim of the bin. With careful fingers Stark detached the robot, before reaching inside to pick up the shattered base of the globe. The outer material was cold to the touch, so cold it almost burned his fingers and Stark dropped it with a curse onto a nearby workspace.

“Jarvis, get me some tongs for handling liquid nitrogen, gloves, eye-wear, everything. And open another file. Let’s call this project, ‘what the hell did I accidentally buy in the North End, a.k.a. the story of my life.’ Extra hush-hush on security.” The inventor muttered another curse as he turned the thing over; the tips of his fingers were red and stung fiercely. “Last thing I want is for Nicky-boy to steal my new toy before I figure out why this thing pissed off the God of Tantrums.”

“Very well, Sir, I have placed your order, along with a meal from your favorite Chinese take-out.”

“You’re golden, Jarv, did I ever tell you that?” Tony picked up the base with pliers, watching in fascination as ice spiraled up the metal tips towards the handle. He dropped the destroyed snow globe back to the table, bringing up his holo-imagers to scan the destroyed base. “How about some tunes, J?”

Tony could have sworn he heard the AI sigh before Jarvis kindly cranked up the music, and the inventor tapped his fingers across the holo-keys in time with the beat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It doesn’t come as a surprise_   
>  _Who’s been naughty, who’s been nice._   
>  _There’s someone here for everyone_   
>  _Another year has just begun._

He got to spend three days in the laboratory with the mystery stone, before Pepper dragged him out by his ear for Stark Industries’ annual holiday party.

The event threatened to be just as boring as last year had been, until Pepper reminded him that this year the Avengers were going to be attending. The Avengers and Loki, because someone thought it’d send the right message to the public to showcase the god’s reformed status on Earth.

Tony fiddled with his tie as he took the steps down to the ballroom two at a time. At least he’d get to see Loki in a suit. And the god couldn’t run away from him, not here in the ballroom with all of the Avengers and press and hordes of rich mortals watching. And if there happened to be mistletoe around again that night… okay, who was he kidding? Pepper would probably murder him with a spoon if he kissed a formerly crazy, but not quite evil reformed god in front of the world media at a Stark Industries event. 

Unsurprisingly, during the few times Tony did manage to drag himself away from the odd blue stone to mingle with his fellow Avengers, the god had avoided him. And Tony was no closer to understanding why the stone had upset Loki, much less why he needed specially made tools to handle and store the object. If only Loki hadn’t so thoroughly shattered the snow globe when he’d, ah, _returned_ it to Tony. 

Three measly days of sleeping on his grease-stained sofa and eating take-out, of cold coffee and sleepless nights, and he _still_ hadn’t figured out what the mysterious base of the snow globe was made out of, or why it radiated such low temperatures. And what the hell was it doing inside a snow globe anyway?

He’d managed, with a bit of prying and careful use of the tongs, to remove the plastic shell from the base to reveal the faint blue stone inside. But none of his scans, experiments, tests, or measurements could tell him what it was made from.  A quick trip back to Boston proved fruitless as well; the shop was gone. Not just closed, _gone_ , as in the building had been torn down the day after Tony’s visit. The city paperwork showed permits for demolition filed the same day Tony visited, but even Jarvis couldn’t find the owner’s name in Boston’s archives or explain how quickly the demolition team had moved in afterwards.

“Smile, Tony! It’s Christmas!” the voice was sickly-sweet, like eating a whole container of frosting.

Tony turned, plastering his best grin in place. “Miss Everdeen. What an unpleasant surprise.” 

“Everhart,” she corrected primly.

“Really? Are you sure?” Tony’s lips twitched, hiding his smirk. “I think Everdeen suits you more. Ever considered taking up archery?”

“Funny. Are you here with anyone tonight, or has the great Tony Stark arrived alone?”

Tony’s stomach dropped. The press had been vicious about his and Pepper’s break-up, with the nastiest of rumors flying. “Actually, I don’t think—“

“—That it is any of your business, Miss Everhart, whether and with whom Mister Stark arrived with.” Pepper interrupted, and Tony had never been happier in his life to see her appear, like an avenging angel in red, with Steve behind her. “As you might have noticed, this event is to celebrate the festive season. I was under the impression that I’d also asked the press to not discuss certain topics this evening, as part of the festivities.”

“Of course Miss Potts,” Everhart simpered. “Do excuse me, I believe I’m needed elsewhere.”

Tony turned his back on the journalist, gratefully accepting the tumbler of scotch Steve pushed into his hands. “You guys are the best,” he murmured, before taking a sip. Oh, it was the _good_ stuff. Pepper must have ordered it. “Lifesavers.”

“Remind me to keep her off the guest list next year,” Pepper said around a grin as she waved at someone across the room. “She’s got a vicious streak.”

“Impossible,” Tony grimaced. “She’s made too many friends, can’t afford to piss her off. Don’t suppose there could be some sort of scandal she’s linked to?”

“No,” Steve answered sharply, and Pepper giggled.

“Spangles is no fun, Pep-Pep,” Tony grinned, finishing his scotch. “I’m getting another. Need anything?”

At Pepper’s frown and Steve’s disapproving look, Tony wandered off alone.

* * *

Tony’s face hurt from pretending to smile. 

If it wasn’t another woman trying to flirt her way into Tony’s bed, it was another board member or director wanting to chat about Stark Industries’ end of year numbers (really, didn’t he have Pepper for that?) or schmooze with the big man himself. He took so many photographs that Tony was certain the red spots on his vision would never fade. And worst of all, the evening was half-over and he’d only managed to sneak one tiny glimpse of the sex god in a suit.

Which was entirely unfair, because Loki had shown up wearing Armani like it had been invented for him. Maybe it had been, Tony mused.

He’d finally managed to escape to the bar and was nursing another scotch, when he’d turned to see the god politely conversing with some blond bombshell on the other side of the room.

The god’s legs went on for miles, and his normally unkempt hair had been swept into a low bun. Even from this distance, Tony could see the perfect lines and cut of the suit lapel, the under-vest and crisp white collar.

It was supremely unfair, and in no way should his stomach have been this tied up in knots at the sight of the taller man in a suit and looking oh so casually human.

A flash of red caught his eye, and he leaned sideways to bump shoulders with Natasha.

“You’re pretty obvious, you know,” she said, taking his arm in hers as she begun to pace forward.

“I am?” Tony’s eyebrows shot up, matching her steps. “I was just standing there, having a drink. Avoiding the wolves.”

“And avoiding a certain Asgardian Prince,” Natasha muttered under her breath, the most casual of gestures as she steered them towards where Loki stood conversing with, oh _fuck_ , Tony realized, _Christine Everhart_ again.

“You know,” Tony puffed out his chest, pretending to look around the room, at any direction but Loki and that annoying woman, “Come to think of it, I _haven’t_ seen Thor all evening!”

“You could try talking to him,” Natasha replied. “Works better than leaving him strange gifts and getting Barton to hang mistletoe everywhere.”

Tony’s jaw dropped open. “What— How do you _know_ about— Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”

“No,” she purred, “You don’t.”

“Tony!” Everhart’s voice still grated on his nerves.

“Everdeen,” Tony acknowledged, sparing a glare for Natasha’s smug look beside him as he realized that she had steered him towards Loki, that conniving—“You’re still here. How exciting.”

Everhart’s smile didn’t waver. “Your new, ah, _colleague_ here was just telling me about life in Avengers Tower. I must say, I am _fascinated_.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Miss,” Loki’s voice was like silk, “I did not say colleague. I am a mere guest of the Avengers, as I work to undo the damage done to Midgard while I was under Thanos’ thrall.”

“Miss Everhart,” Natasha interrupted, and Tony almost felt sorry for the reporter. “Perhaps I could interest you in a bite to eat or another drink? Surely you’ve taken up enough of Mr. Laufeyson’s time this evening.” 

The meddlesome woman blinked, but moved away with a gracious nod as Natasha stalked after her. Tony exhaled in relief, letting his shoulders drop. 

“That woman, is she…” Loki began to ask.

“Evil? Aggravating?” Tony guessed.

“Important? On Midgard?” Loki finally managed.

Tony laughed under his breath, “She’s a reporter. So for our purposes tonight, yes. We want Earth to see you laughing and smiling and having a good time, with the Avengers around you.” Tony let a smile slip back across his face. “And she’s still watching us. Smile for the camera.”

“Ah,” Loki let the barest hint of a smile cross his face, “then let me assure you, I have many centuries of practice in attending diplomatic events even when I have no desire to do so.”

“I see,” Tony turned to meet Loki’s eyes. “Listen, I know that you’re still mad at me, but I think—” Tony cleared his throat, “I think we got off on the wrong foot with the snow globe.”

“Oh?” Loki’s lips barely moved; his eyes were dull and unfocused, in stark contrast to the hint of a smile across his face.

“Yeah. You see, um, this is going to sound bad,” Tony fiddled with his scotch glass, twisting the tumbler in circles against his palm. “Don’t throw your wine glass or anything at me, but the snow globe thing? I don’t know how things work on Asgard, but that was supposed to be a gift. Not an insult. And to be fair, I didn’t actually know it had that weird super-cold stone in the base. Not until you hurled it at my head, that is.”

Loki’s sudden scowl surprised Stark, as the god stepped closer. His face was a measure of intensity. “You mean to tell me, that you brought an unknown magical artifact into the tower and presented it to the Avengers’ pet mage, without knowing it contained a dangerous object within?”

“Whoa there, Vixen,” Tony patted the god’s shoulder. “Smile, remember? And I’m saying I didn’t even realize it was, uh, magical. Because we don’t usually do magic on Earth, you know?” Tony tried to grin, but Loki’s green eyes were so wide that it was hard to concentrate. “So it _is_ magical then? Not just some expensive antique toy?” 

The illusionary smile on the god’s face was ruined by the fierce look in his eyes. “I was under the obviously false impression that you were considered to be a genius on Midgard.”

“Hey! I am a genius! Magic is just science we can’t explain yet,” Tony huffed. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I still don’t know, spent three days trying to figure out what it is actually made of. Oh, I know! Maybe you wanna come do science with me and figure out what the magic rock is made of?”

Loki looked at him strangely, before he leaned in close and whispered, “You haven’t _disposed_ of it? It is still in the city?”

“Well, yeah,” Tony shrugged. “Had to get a special storage system for it, though, after the temperature variations shattered my metal workbench.”

“Stark,” Loki hissed, and there was no hint of mirth in his tone now, “That thing harnessed _winter_. It’s been snowing nonstop for four days, or have you not noticed—” 

“Wait, it’s been snowing for four days?”

Loki rolled his eyes, gesturing to the window behind them. Outside, the city was blanketed in white, with flurries still falling across the sky. It was beautiful, pure and clean, and, _even better_ , Tony noticed the smallest branch of mistletoe pinned above them in the window frame, contrasted against the view.

“Would you look at that, it’s going to be a white Christmas after all.” He grinned. “And oh, hey, look! There’s some mistletoe! Did I ever tell you about the Earth tradition—”

“Stark, this is _important,”_ whispered Loki. “When did you bring that thing into the tower?”

“Um.” Tony added up the days since his first flight to Boston. “About… four days ago?” Loki’s glare could have melted ice. “Fine, fine,” he finally said, “Come by tomorrow morning and you can help me get rid of it. Deal?”

“Acceptable,” Loki murmured. “Now if you will please excuse me, I believe the appropriate Midgardian expression is, ‘I need a drink’.”

Tony watched him go, until the god’s tall form disappeared into the crowd.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Silent night, not inside_   
>  _Slaybells ring until the light_   
>  _Hearts explode, here we go_   
>  _It’s all like they’re inside your eyes!_

Loki’s little magic hideaway was even more interesting than Tony remembered, now that he’d actually been invited inside. Well, to say he had been _invited_ was optimistic—Tony had insisted he accompany Loki when the god wanted to examine the strange winter-stone with his own tools at hand. Something about having wards set up or whatever Harry Potter slang the god had adopted in attempting to explain what he did to the muggle masses on Earth, Tony hadn’t been listening; but, he did know that Loki thought it best to examine the stone in the protective field areas that the god had set up in his workshop. And Tony also knew that, reformed or not, SHIELD would probably castrate him if he surrendered what could potentially be a dangerous magical artifact to the god, even if they had come to accept that Loki was just as much a puppet as Barton.

Not that Tony was complaining, per se, because Loki’s workshop was the most surreal-looking place on the entire planet, with diagrams and drawings and books in languages Jarvis couldn’t even recognize much less read. 

Tony drummed his fingers on the couch. Loki had practically shoved him down into the cushions, in almost the same spot he’d sat all those months ago when he’d snuck inside. It _was_ interesting, watching Loki work, but there was no mistletoe. And besides, Loki had been staring at the stone, his fingertips covered in green energy, for almost twenty minutes. What was it that Pepper used to say, that a bored Tony Stark is a dangerous Tony Stark?

“So what did I accidentally buy on Ebay, Comet?” Tony stood up impatiently, his fingers drumming against the casing of the StarkPhone in his pocket. “Is it magic? Do you think Hogwarts exists too?”

Loki’s eyes flickered up from the stone to meet Tony’s own, and the inventor was struck by how nervous the taller man appeared. “I am not certain,” he replied after a beat, refocusing his attentions on the stone. “I cannot transfigure it, nor can I mute its properties.”

“Awesome,” Tony groaned, leaning against one of the bookshelves. “So what now?” 

“We will need to send it with Thor to Asgard,” Loki frowned. “Loathe as I am to ask for help from Asgard, this shouldn’t be here.”

Tony frowned. “Loki, I know you are new to Earth and all, but are you sure we have to destroy it? I mean, we have this thing called global warming here, and if the blizzard outside is any sign we could just put this baby on the polar icecaps and—” 

“No,” Loki snarled. “Your species already attracted the attention of _one_ of the most powerful beings out there with the Tesseract, but—” he choked back a pained grunt, as though it hurt to say the name, “ _Thanos_ is not the _only_ one out there. The fewer of these sort of artifacts on Midgard, the better.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony sighed. “Wait, you mean it was Fury’s group fucking around with the Tesseract that made that bad dude send you and his flying monkeys?”

“I don’t know what that is supposed to mean, Stark.”

Tony crossed the room as the god shook his fingers, extinguishing the green aura. “I mean, the reason Earth was targeted is because SHIELD played around with something they didn’t understand.”

“Essentially,” Loki said, letting himself fall gracefully into a chair. Tony noticed suddenly that the god was sweating; exhausted, even. “But _he_ eventually would have figured out that the Tesseract was here, and come looking regardless,” the god grimaced, “even if he hadn’t had _use_ of a convenient _tool_ at the time.”

“Right,” Tony paced back across the room. “So we need to move this snow stone outta here before someone gets curious. But who knows how long it has been here? I mean, I picked it up in Boston, it wasn’t exactly snowing in Boston last summer. So whatever the base did, it prevented the snow stone—”

“Please stop calling the ancient artifact a ‘snow stone,’ Stark.”

“Whatever,” Tony picked up a trinket from Loki’s shelf, ignoring the god’s glare as he tossed the small object up in the air and caught it again, “I’m just saying it was here and not causing blizzards in Boston last August, so why is it acting up now. And now you want to send it back to Never-Never Land.”

Loki barked what would have been an amused laugh from anyone else. “Would you rather its creators come to collect it, Stark?”

“Depends,” Tony looked up from the trinket, replacing it on the shelf. “Who created it?” 

Loki stood up so quickly that Tony reflexively took a step back, nearly missing the god’s flinch. But then the moment was gone, and Loki squared his shoulders before reaching out to palm the stone. “I suspect it was left on Midgard by accident—” he held the stone aloft in one hand, grinning in a manner that looked both sadistic and self-flagellating; a look Tony recognized well, “—by the Jötnar, the last time the Frost Giants tried to invade Midgard, over a thousand of your years ago.”

Tony watched in rapt fascination as the god’s skin darkened into a cobalt blue as paler lines that looked almost like smoothed scars appeared across his face and hands, disappearing along his neck under the god’s high collar. He swallowed hard. It was just not _fair_ , the man was already sex on stilts, he didn’t need to be this _goddamn_ attractive when blue as well.

“Ah, well, that’s—” Tony grunted, “Interesting. Please don’t throw anything at me, but that color is stunning. I don’t paint, but I kind of want to start, like right now.”

Loki rolled his eyes, turning to replace the stone within the warded table. “I’m not an idiot, Stark. You needn’t placate me about this form, I hate it even more than you do.”

“I’m serious, Loki, its really—” he wanted to tell the god that the blue was sexy; gorgeous like the captivating mind Tony had come to crave in those few moments when the god let his guard down amongst the Avengers; in those stolen minutes when Tony had watched Loki work through some magical mystery with his green flashy lights as the god muttered to himself. But something caught Tony’s eye, instead.

He turned towards the city; unlike Tony’s workshop, Loki had kept the windows in his own uncovered, open to the sky and elements of the city. _Sunshine,_ Tony realized with a start. The clouds had cleared; snow had stopped falling from the sky.

He glanced behind him, to see Loki’s blue hand placing the stone inside its storage container, the one from Tony’s lab. “Wait!” Tony called. “Don’t put it down yet!”

Loki hesitated, shoulders tense as he reluctantly looked up at Tony, then the window behind the inventor, and finally back to the stone in his hand. “It cannot possibly be that simple.”

“What’s simple? Aren’t you an, ah, _Youtna_ r?”

“Jotun,” Loki corrected automatically.

“Whatever,” Tony waved dismissively. “Put it down, magic man, and let’s see how long until the snow starts again.”

Loki dropped the stone into the box, stepping away as his blue-tinged skin faded slowly to Aesir pink. Moments later, the sky clouded over again, dark and dreary. Loki sighed as the first flakes began.

“I suppose it makes sense,” the god exhaled, clearly displeased. “If anyone would have used the stone among the Frost Giants, it would have been one with seidr.”

“Huh,” Tony muttered. “You feel like being an elemental mage today? I think we should go show the Avengers your Blue Man Group impression and explain what’s going on.”

Loki sighed again, defeated. “As you wish, Stark.”

* * *

It had been surprisingly easy for the Avengers to accept that the five-day blizzard—the worst the city had seen since the snowstorm of 1888—was in fact Tony’s fault.

It certainly helped that Loki, in blue and red, painted a convincing picture when he sat the stone down on a table to demonstrate the weather-effects (and Tony wasn’t even going to think about the fact that the snow-stone cracked the surface of his glass tabletop, it was so cold).

But it certainly put a damper on explaining what mistletoe was, when the god looked like a blue snowman that had swallowed a lit charcoal or something. In fact, Tony was relatively certain (he’d have to get Jarvis to run the statistics) that Loki hadn’t stopped scowling since he’d explained to the other Avengers that the artifact Tony had inadvertently located both turned him blue _and_ controlled the weather.

Scratch that, Loki hadn’t looked too pleased in his workshop, either, when he’d first gone blue with just Tony around. He’d basically been scowling since he turned that magnificent shade of cobalt.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it was rude to stare, Stark?”

Tony blinked. _Had he been staring?_  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all?”

Loki hummed, fingering the small bulge under his shirt. Tony had devised a crude necklace of wire and sinew that let the stone hang against Loki’s skin without the god holding it; so far, it had been six hours of clear skies and the weather reports were looking up. Crisis averted, yay.

But Loki was still blue, and Thor wasn’t answering his cell phone.

Tony would feel bad about it, about how uncomfortable the god clearly was in that form, if he wasn’t so damned hot in the blue suit. Of course, it’d taken Tony months to get use to seeing the arc reactor in the mirror every morning, so he understood. Sort of.

“We could watch a movie?” Tony said suddenly, hoping to distract the taller man; Loki’s fidgeting had turned agitated, the god’s dark nails digging painful-looking gouges into his own skin. “While we wait for Thor, I mean.”

“I suppose,” Loki said. There was something in the edge of his voice, something more that Tony couldn’t put his finger on but it sounded pained, almost hopeful.

“Jarvis,” Tony kicked back on the sofa and patted the space beside him. Loki reluctantly joined him, leaving a good two feet of distance between himself and Stark. “Surprise us, something Christmas-feeling without being too much of a downer.”

For the first hour of the film, Tony felt like the genius he was.

Loki had relaxed into the film, asking odd questions here or there about why the characters behaved in a peculiarly human way, maybe even forgotten for the moment that he was stuck in a form he hated until Thor arrived to ferret the stone away to Asgard.

Tony might have even scooted closer to the god, brushed his hands across Loki’s knee when he reached for the popcorn. May have sat himself little closer than strictly proprietary, after a run to the kitchen for drinks; may have let his fingers linger on Loki’s when he and the god reached for a snack at the same time.

He couldn’t tell if Loki was blushing under all that blue skin, but a few times he’d caught him surreptitiously studying him, like a puzzle to be solved. _Good_ , Tony thought, _let him be as curious as I’ve been!_

Until Loki unexpectedly tensed beside him, and pulled his leg away. “Halt the recording, Jarvis,” Loki bit out. “Is this all a joke to you, Stark?”

Tony turned, surprised to find angry red eyes glaring at him. “Uh,” Tony fidgeted. “ _Love, Actually_ does have a lots of jokes, if you didn’t notice, so you’re going to have to be a bit more specific about—”

“The mistletoe,” Loki waved at the screen. “They’re going to _kiss_ under the _mistletoe_.”

Tony grinned. _At last!_ “Yeah, Cupid. It’s an Earth tradition at Christmas. If two people are underneath mistletoe during the holiday season, they kiss. Christmas cheer and all that.” He made a show of looking up, an air of surprise falling across his features. “Oh, look, Lokes! There’s mistletoe right above us! What do you say?”

Loki’s lips thinned. “You—” his voice shook, “you _mock_ me so—"

Tony blinked. “What?!”

“You think you can trick a _kiss_ out of me?” Loki spat, “That you’ll just twist your—your _Midgardian_ traditions to hurt me?”

“Okay,” Tony held up a hand to stop Loki, “I’m admittedly confused now, because I thought we were talking about a kiss. I don’t know how it is on Asgard, but generally on Earth, those are pretty harmless.”

“Stop _pretending_!” Loki hissed, surging to his feet, all six foot three of towering blue rage and fierce red eyes. Tony blinked owlishly. “I can see how you look at this form, at _me_ , like you want to _dissect_ me, take it apart at the seams. Stop _pretending_ you’re actually _interested_ in _me_ , when all you want is to gloat that you’ve managed to kiss the _monster_!”

“Hey, that’s not it,” Tony protested. “That’s not—”

But it was too late. There was a flash of green as Loki’s form dissolved, leaving behind only a cloud of smoke that flittered into nothing, like dry ice dissolving into the ether. Gone.

Suddenly, Tony was alone again.

“Fuck,” he wheezed, sinking into the sofa. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Won’t you meet me by the tree?_   
>  _Slip away so secretly._   
>  _Can’t you see how this could be?_   
>  _The greatest gift of all!_

Tony poured his second glass of scotch, not even bothering to replace the lid. It was _his_ scotch, after all, from the wet bar in _his_ living room, which he’d made into the Avengers’ living room for the holidays with the communal tree.                                             

Fine, maybe he actually _liked_ coming up from the workshop to find Cap and Bruce and the others hanging around the tree, making treats or watching movies. It was almost like having a family. Or whatever. What he thought a family might have been like.

But the room was empty now at this late hour, lit only by the brightly colored Christmas tree.

He wished he’d never had Jarvis order the tree. It was too bright, too cheerful, he mused, taking a sip of the scotch. And the ornaments were tacky. Really, who needed a Captain America bauble? And why had someone hung the Iron Man and Loki figurines so close together? Though the one with Hulk wearing a Santa hat was pretty cool, he had to admit.

Thor had come and gone that afternoon, collecting the snow stone in a specially-designed container Loki had created, and staying only long enough to wish everyone well for the holiday season should he not return from Asgard in time for Yule. Just as well, Tony thought. The idea of him and Jane on Christmas morning all happy and shit made him want to barf.

But the god had come by his workshop before he left, causing Tony to bang his head on the car he was working beneath when Jarvis informed him that Mister Odinson wished to speak with him. _Wrong prince_ , Tony grimaced, rubbing the bruise across his forehead. 

Tony slumped into the couch, his thoughts drifting. Thor’s words had been… off. Strange, even. He’d been uncharacteristically solemn, not nearly as loud as Tony was used to.

“Tell me something, friend Stark,” he had demanded, and Tony remembered being surprised to find Thor’s features so melancholic. He had almost asked if something had happened, between him and Jane, before Thor had continued, “Does—does Loki—Does his Jötun form not frighten you?”

And it was such an absurd question, even now, hours later. Tony rubbed a hand across his brow. He remembered laughing, when Thor asked, and the Thunderer had growled at him to _be serious_. As if one could seriously answer such a ridiculous question. He’d said no, of course. Had laughed and told Thor that he was _curious_ , but not scared.

And then he wondered, if Thor was frightened when he arrived at the tower a few days ago, to find the man he still tried to call brother blue skinned and looking for all purposes like the enemy Thor was taught to hate since his childhood. 

There had been one night, when Loki had first been returned to Earth—cleansed of the influence of his alien captors and all proud anger and spite in return—and Thor had brought out some sort of alcoholic beverage from Asgard. The pair of aliens proceeded to drink until they were incapacitated assholes, destroying the furniture of Tony’s living room as they attempted to kill each other with hateful words and ming vases and arm chairs. Loki had said Thor would hate him, if he ever saw his true form, and Thor had stupidly said he’d love Loki even if he were a Jötun.

Which, looking back on it, was rather hilarious when Loki cackled manically and shifted to the blue form, before Thor had accused him of lying about _this_ being his true form, because _surely_ Loki was joking. Apparently Daddy Odin hadn’t gotten around to telling his son about Loki’s true heritage, after the whole Chitauri attack and all. It had taken both Tony in the suit and Rogers to separate the pair, but by morning they were somewhat friendly again, with Loki going so far as to even nod when Thor had called him brother before departing.

He _was_ curious about the whole blue thing. He could admit that much to himself. Those lines that disappeared down the god’s collar, did they just go on forever?

But they were just one piece to the puzzle, one small facet of what made Loki tick, of what had captivated his interest. The man was quite simply the most fascinating person Tony had ever encountered, and it scared him, how much he wanted to get to know the trickster, just to talk. Just to watch him work on his green magic-man projects.

And that was to say nothing of how easy it was to talk to the god, once he had relaxed enough to not hide away in his rooms; once he realized the Avengers were, for the most part, going to give him a chance. Tony found the taller man’s company strangely comfortable, when the god helped him rebuild parts of the city damaged by the Chitauri’s weapons, which left an energy residue of sorts that would invoke a secondary explosion if not handled properly. And Loki also helped the Avengers to dismantle or remove alien artifacts and transports wedged precariously into the side of buildings throughout the city.

It had almost been fun, in the end, once the god let his proverbial hair down and begun to verbally spar with Tony and the others. Before Tony had fucked everything up.

The billionaire grunted, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. Fucking designer piece of crap, not soft enough to swallow him whole, not like the couch in Loki’s workshop.

The god had made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested. If it wasn’t enough that Loki had stormed out of the movie when he learned what all the mistletoe hanging about the tower was for, he then had spent the last two days avoiding Tony entirely; avoiding the floor their respective workshops were on; avoiding everything to do with the inventor, even going so far as leave the moment Stark entered the room. It was so blatantly obvious that something had occurred to chill the mood between them, that Barton had started humming the fucking K-I-S-S-I-N-G song whenever Tony walked by. If only he knew, Tony’s gut churned. He’d never hear the end of it, if Barton knew how he truly felt about mister tall, dark, and angry.

His tumbler was empty again, and as he stood to pour himself another. Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow moved and Tony flinched in shock.

Loki stood against the wall, half-hidden in the dark, but clearly Aesir pink again. He looked worn, tired in a way that Tony wasn’t used to noticing on his features. Like he’d fought against himself and lost.

“Shit Loki, warn a guy,” Tony grunted, tapping on the reactor casing before pouring himself another few fingers of the amber liquor. “Want any of the good stuff? Ogden’s finest.”

“I… yes, please,” Loki’s words were quiet, barely carrying across the room. But he remained where he was, back against the wall and stiffly postured, as though he expected the worst.

Tony shrugged, carrying another glass and the bottle to the low table in the sitting area. He gracefully sat himself off-center on the sofa, and poured a generous portion into the empty glass.

“Be my guest,” Tony leaned away, gesturing to the seat across from him.

On silent steps, the god trailed across the room. Tony tried for a smile as the taller man sat and, with a startling amount of grace in his long-limbed movements, reached for the proffered glass.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Tony’s fingers drumming on the leather surface of the couch as he sipped his third scotch. Loki was striking in the pale light from the Christmas tree, his green eyes unnaturally bright.

But Tony wasn’t thinking about that, nope. Not anymore. He tried to look anywhere but at Loki, at the tree, at the dark corner where the god had slunk in from, across the room at the twinkling lights of the city—still covered in snow, but with clear skies and no more supernatural forces interfering. Anywhere but Loki—until the god cleared his throat.

“I may have been hasty in my anger,” the god grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with admitting fault.

“Don’t mention it,” Tony shrugged. He gestured towards Loki’s now empty glass, and poured them each another drink. “No big deal.” Maybe if he was easy-going about the whole thing, they could go back to being sort of friends, to the snide comments and insults and jokes they used to share before Tony had gotten it in his thick head that Christmas was a time for miracles.

Loki looked away, in a move so uncharacteristic that Tony blinked. “Thor said—” he hesitated, taking another sip of scotch, “He said that mistletoe on Midgard—it is not an insult? That his, um, that Jane had told him of the tradition.”

“Wait, back up.” Tony leaned forward, studying the god’s drawn expression. “It’s an insult on Asgard? As in the plant, mistletoe? From Earth?”

“Yes,” Loki said. He took an unusually long sip of the scotch, before he shrugged his shoulders. “It’s silly, really.”

“Well go on, Donner, you can’t stop now,” Tony grinned. “Tell me how I accidentally insulted you, so I can avoid that in favor of _intentionally_ insulting you in the future.”

That earned the engineer a muffled laugh, and Tony felt warmer inside, certainly not only because of the scotch. Loki’s expression looked lighter already, and Tony had to stamp down with iron will that fiercely bitter hope still present in his chest.

“There was a rumor, a story really, that began when I was a child,” Loki placed his empty glass on the table again, and Tony took the opportunity to refill it. “As the story goes, Frigga and Odin had another son; younger than Thor. Frigga’s love for him was so vast, that she had every object in every realm make a vow not to harm him. Except mistletoe.”

“I think I’ve heard the Earth version of this story. Let me guess, he died and now there is no mistletoe in Asgard?” Tony cringed. “Wait, doesn’t the Earth version say _you_ somehow killed him with mistletoe—”

“It’s not true!” Loki spat, and Tony leaned away, surprised by the raw anger in the god’s eyes. “Balder died before I was even born.”

“Hold up, are you telling me that _part_ of the mythology is correct?” Tony ran a nervous hand through his hair. “That you and Thor had another brother and he died from _mistletoe_? Holy fucking shit Loki, I am so sorry.”

“It’s not precisely like the Midgardian legend,” Loki said, cradling the tumbler against his chest. “Yes, Balder died from a spear made from mistletoe,” the god waved his hand, as if he could brush away the image. “But it was not my fault. As I said, I wasn’t even born when he died. It was a training accident, when Balder and Thor were children.” Loki couldn’t hide the scowl that flitted across his face. “It was partly why, when I came along, Frigga refused to allow me to train from childhood as the other warriors on Asgard did. As Thor had been trained.”

“Awww,” Tony cooed at the image. “Overprotective mama Frigga, eh?” He felt warm inside, the scotch finally building enough to let a pleasant buzz wash over him.

Loki glared at Stark, but there was no real heat in his eyes. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “The loss of her second born made Frigga cautious. Protective, as you say.” He huffed a bitter-sounding chuckle. “However,” Loki picked at the fabric of his trousers, “Thor’s friends heard the Midgardian tale, probably during one of their visits to your Realm.” He let out a weary sound, seeming to slump further into the chair than Tony knew was strictly possible, like a cat curling in on itself. “They used to tease me, say they’d found some mistletoe for me, if I wanted to take out another of my brothers. Move up in the inheritance line, they said.”

“Well that’s fucked up,” Tony muttered, pouring another drink for himself. “So when I kept pointing out mistletoe, hanging it everywhere in the tower….”

Loki shrugged again. “And the Jötnar relic didn’t help. I admit I am—I do not like—It makes me uncomfortable to remember, why I am different from those who raised me.”

“That’s silly,” Tony giggled, suddenly realizing how warm he felt. “You’re gorgeous when blue. Gorgeous now like that, too, but none of that really matters. S’your brain that is so goddamn interesting, like wildfire. Asgard sounds like a bunch of meatheads anyway. You’ll never be like them, you’re too intelligent. You’re just too—” Tony ticked a list off on his fingers, “Gorgeous. Hot. Fascinating. Unique. Sexy—” his eyes widened as he realized what he’d said out loud. He slapped a hand across his mouth, muffling the surprised squeak that followed.

The god studied him with such a serious expression that Tony began to worry he’d gotten ink on his nose while signing those agreements Pepper had brought by earlier. “You were attempting to court me,” he finally whispered, and he looked as surprised as Tony felt. “Is that why—is that the purpose of mistletoe on Midgard? Is that why you bought that cursed snow globe?”

Tony blinked, eyes wide. “Uh. Maybe? Not that there’s anything, um, traditional about buying a snow globe for your crush—” Tony snapped his mouth closed. “You know what? You’re not interested. I should probably stop talking. And drinking. Definitely _stop_ drinking.” 

Tony moved to stand. Long, thin fingers wrapped around his wrist, and the inventor froze, heart racing. He looked up to find Loki staring at him. Tony realized with a start that the god’s hand was trembling.

“And what if I was?” Loki asked. Tony could scarcely breathe. “What if I was interested? Is there mistletoe above us, now?”

Tony looked up. _Damn_. He’d forgotten that in a fit of spite he’d had Barton remove all of the mistletoe from the common area, because he didn’t want Jane and Thor to notice it on Christmas morning. “Nope, no mistletoe. Not anymore.” He tried to grin. “Maybe we could try something else? Back up a step and, I don’t know, maybe go on a date instead? Can we start over?”

Loki smiled. It was a softer expression than usual for the god, hopeful almost; painfully familiar. “I’d like that, Stark.”

“Tony,” he corrected. “You have to call me Tony, if we’re going to go on a date.”

“Anthony,” the god conceded, releasing Tony’s wrist.

“Good enough,” the inventor smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s a very, very, merry, merry christmas._   
>  _Gonna party on ’til Santa grants my wishes._   
>  _Got my halo on I know what I want_   
>  _It’s who I’m with._   
>  _It’s an extraordinary merry christmas!_

He was _nervous_. Twelve-for-twelve (okay, thirteen) with the Maxim girls, and here he stood, Tony Stark, ladies (and sometimes gentlemen’s) man, palms sweaty and heart racing as he waited for his date to arrive.

Loki was late. 

 _Late_. Which would be hilariously ironic, if Tony wasn’t so nervous already. And what was the god doing, anyway? He knew for a fact that the magic-man could just twiddle his fingers and have his hair fall into place, what was _taking_ him so long now? It was almost fifteen minutes after seven, and all Tony had was a brief text from Loki, ‘ _five more minutes_ ,’ it said.

After Tony’s alcohol-induced confession the night before, they had agreed to start over, to try again. Tony said he’d meet Loki at his workshop at seven the next evening, and he distinctly remembered the god agreeing before Tony had wished him a pleasant evening and stumbled off in a warm haze to his bed.

The day’s business had taken him away from the tower, and according to Jarvis, Loki had been in his workshop for most of the afternoon.

He knocked on the door again, stepping back in alarm as it swung open without warning. But instead of Loki, Romanoff appeared, an ever-present smirk across her lips like she knew something Tony didn’t.

“Looks like talking worked after all,” she grinned, stepping around him. “Took you two long enough.”

Tony could only blink stupidly as she sauntered towards the elevators, before Loki appeared in the doorway and all thoughts of retorting Nat’s comments vanished from his mind.

Loki looked— there were no words. It was obvious, suddenly, why Romanoff had been in Loki’s workshop. The god looked more _human_ , or at least, he wasn’t wearing leather and gold and metal any more, wasn’t wearing Aesir leisurewear (which, from what Tony had gathered, still was primarily made of leather).

Loki was all soft fabrics and knits, kitted up in an elegant gray sweater paired with finely made black trousers and winter boots to match. He’d pulled his dark tresses back, into a high, neat ponytail that curled at the edges of his neck and accentuated his cheekbones. And somehow—Tony didn’t know it was even possible—but somehow, the blacks and grays and pale lines of Loki’s outfit made the god’s green eyes seem even more vibrant, and oh so vulnerable all of a sudden.

Tony licked his lips, suddenly anxious again. “Hey,” he said. “Ready?”

Loki’s answering smile was warm, tentative, as he waved a green-fingered hand and the door sealed behind him. “Lead on, Sta— _Anthony_.”

Tony grinned.

* * *

It was a short walk to Rockefeller Center, but Tony had stuffed his hands in the pockets of his white fleece jacket and burrowed down in his blue scarf almost the moment they’d stepped outside. Damn but it was _cold_ outside, even if a lot of the snow had melted after Thor took that damn snow stone back to Asgard.  And Loki, the smug bastard, looked perfectly comfortable in just his sweater. Frost Giant and all, Tony supposed. It wasn’t fair.

“So, you really haven’t gone ice skating before?” Tony said, bringing his hands up to blow hot air on his fingers. _Should have brought the gloves_ , he thought. “Aren’t you a thousand years old or something?" 

Loki chuckled. “Old enough, perhaps. But Asgard has a very temperate climate.”

“No indoor rinks?” Tony grinned. “If I teach you how to skate, I’m so going to throw a skating party on my birthday and laugh at Thor when he falls down.”

“That’s quite devious, Anthony,” Loki sounded like he was trying to scold him, but the quiver in his voice told Tony he was moments away from laughing. “Perhaps I should attempt to learn myself, before we make any further plans, however.”

“Maybe,” Tony winked. “This way,” he gestured to a blocked-off entrance area, with a security guard standing nearby, “I got us VIP passes.”

The rink at Rockefeller was busy, as expected, with a smattering of New Yorkers and tourists alike circling around the iconic ice. Even with Tony’s VIP, it took the pair another thirty minutes of waiting around in the heated rest area before they were able to get out on the ice. Tony didn’t mind waiting; Loki’s sharp tongue and humor had returned, and the pair spent most of their wait sipping cocoa and making terribly sarcastic comments about the skaters that fell down. 

When it was their turn, however, suddenly Loki was less than confident. His fingers dug into Tony’s sweater, tightly holding the mortal’s arm as they stepped out tentatively onto the ice.

“Just get a feel for it first, Blitzen, then we’ll work on moving. Okay?” Tony grinned, patting Loki’s hand on his shoulder, “Hold on, and let me do the work first.”

“Oh, is that what you say to _all_ of your dates, Anthony?” Loki grinned.

Tony laughed. “Only the hot ones. Ready?”

Loki nodded once, and Tony slowly kicked one foot and then the other sideways. It’d been a long time since he’d skated, but growing up in New York had its benefits. And Maria had taught him to figure skate, taught him to twirl and jump, before Howard made him play hockey instead, for a few disastrous years.

Tony slowly picked up speed, faster and faster until they had skated half of the length of the ice. “Okay, the secret is to push off sideways with one foot, glide, and then the other.” Tony demonstrated, propelling himself forward with one foot, let the momentum carry him, then pushed with the other. “Or you can pump your feet in and out, like this.”

“This seems… rather intuitive,” Loki muttered, carefully imitating Tony’s feet, moving his skates in and out to accelerate.

Tony grinned. “You’re a natural! Why am I not surprised?” He turned to skate backwards, reaching for the god’s hands as Loki tried to accelerate to keep up with Tony’s pace. “And we’ll get to fancier-stops later, but for now, just let yourself glide towards the wall or drag that toe edge along the ice to slow down.”

They circled the rink a few times, Tony glancing backwards over his shoulder to guide them every now and then, as Loki gained confidence and speed. They’d managed to get up a good rhythm, with Loki mostly propelling them forward, until a small figure darted out behind him.

Tony cursed, his feet slipping sideways into a short, quick stop, but Loki’s momentum carried them forward, toppling them over.

Tony groaned as Loki huffed a chuckle, the god’s face buried against Tony’s scarf from where they’d crumpled in a pile of limbs on the ice.

“Sorry mister!” a small voice piped up, before quick sharp sounds told Tony that the child had skated off, the little shit.

“Well this is certainly a first,” Tony smirked. “Normally I don’t mind when my dates end up horizontal, but my ass is really cold right now.”

Loki’s grin was too bright, too joyous for someone who’d just fallen over, as the god managed to untangle himself from Tony’s legs and arms. He knelt beside Tony as the mortal sat up and brushed the ice from his fleece jacket and jeans.

“Next time—“ Tony grimaced, extending a hand to help Loki up. “—I’ll rent the whole damn rink. But I think I’m done for now, though.”

Loki brushed the ice from his sweater. “Agreed. I’ve gotten the basics, anyway.”

The god’s sweater was damp in places from falling on the ice, and his skin looked faintly blue under the surface. He tsked. “You look cold, Rudolph; your sweater is wet,“ Tony murmured, as he removed his blue scarf.

“I’m not cold,” Loki protested.

Tony ignored him, looping the cashmere scarf around the god’s neck once, then twice, and tucked the loose ends in, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary across Loki’s chest. “There,” Tony winked. “Blue looks good on you."

Two bright, cherry-pink spots rose on Loki’s cheeks, and the god ducked his head. Tony chuckled, and caught the god’s hand in his as he angled them towards the exit.

* * *

Tony followed the walkway around the rink, enjoying the night air and ambiance. He had intended to head towards Fifth Avenue, where a variety of dessert and coffee shops would warm them after a winter’s stroll. 

His hands were warm, with one in his jacket pocket and the other tucked securely in Loki’s. The god hadn’t stopped smiling—a gentle, quiet smile, unlike Thor’s perpetual boisterous grin—ever since the inventor had tucked his scarf around Loki’s neck.

It was colder now, as the wind had picked up across the plaza, and as they turned towards Fifth Avenue the wind gusted between the buildings in a sharp current. Smells wafted on the wind, of crisp winter, roasting chestnuts from a vendor ahead, and the smell of cinnamon from the bakery nearby. Tony looked over his shoulder to see the rink lit up, with the Rockefeller Christmas tree towering overhead.

Loki tugged on his hand, pulling free. “Wait here a moment, Anthony,” he said. The god wandered up to a store window, tapping two fingers on the glass before going inside.

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets. He was tempted to pull out his cell phone to ask Jarvis how he thought the date was going, but that was probably weird. It seemed like the evening was going alright, yeah? Loki hadn’t gotten angry or stormed off. Tony hadn’t accidentally offended him yet. All good signs.

If one didn’t count Loki’s current disappearing act, that is. But the god had just gone into a store, right? Maybe he was buying another scarf. Or a hat. Or maybe Loki had gone out the other exit and cut back across the plaza in a shortcut back to the tower.

Tony shivered, suddenly cold.

When the god returned a few minutes later, Tony had taken to stamping his feet in place to stay warm. He looked up to find Loki smirking at him, a red box in one hand, and his fist clutched tightly around something in the other. Loki presented the box to Tony with a flourish and tilt of his head.

The inventor grinned, turning the box over. “A snow globe, Lokes?” He peeled off the tape, and pulled out the creation to inspect it more closely. Beneath the plastic and bubble wrap was a perfectly formed orb on a rich mahogany base, with the iconic New York skyline inside. He shook it gently, watching as fat silvery flakes swirled around the miniature city. “Oh, hey look. It’s snowing!”

Loki didn’t reply; Tony looked up to see the god’s face, lit in pale contrast by the streetlamps and Christmas tree behind them. The small, tender smile he’d come to associate with the taller man was still there, but his green eyes held such sadness, such fear.

“Hey,” Tony whispered, a hand coming to rest on Loki’s arm. “Hey. I love it. I love the snow globe. What’s wrong?”

Loki huffed a painful laugh. “What would you do, Anthony—” Loki whispered, his words so quiet against the wind that Tony had to lean forward to hear him. The god opened his hand, and Tony inhaled sharply. In Loki’s palm was a sprig of mistletoe “What would you do, if there were mistletoe above us now?”

Tony pulled Loki closer, until the snow globe rested between them. “Well then, we can’t have bad luck on Christmas, can we?” He hesitated, waiting just a moment for Loki to pull away. And when the god’s arms came to rest on his shoulders instead, when Loki didn’t move away, Tony lifted up on his toes, and kissed him.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, under the streetlight, surrounded by the twinkling lights of Rockefeller center all around. The wind seemed less fierce, and Tony’s core warmed, his lips tingling and hot against Loki’s. Kissing Loki, it was like nothing and everything that he had imagined. The god’s lips and tongue edged for dominance and surrendered in equal measure, and Tony found himself both embraced and embracing the god at the same time. He moaned, deepening the kiss as his tongue warred against Loki’s own.

Then it was over, and wary green eyes followed the inventor’s every move, as Tony’s lips slowly quirked into a grin. As the billionaire’s eyes twinkled with emotion and words he couldn’t say. As Tony leaned forward and kissed him again. 

And somewhere, deep in the back of Tony’s mind, he realized that it was snowing again, and that he was no longer cold, and that he’d probably never be cold ever again.

 _Merry Christma_ s, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive MASSIVE thanks to [Horns-of-Mischief](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/profile), without whom this project wouldn't exist and I probably would have slept more in the last week. Not only is the art ah-fucking-mazing, but the fun part was collaborating and building on story lines and wrapping the small details together! Not to mention the company was pretty awesome, too ;) 
> 
> You can find her amazing art for this project here [here](http://horns-of-mischief.tumblr.com/image/106003802878). GO LOOK!
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone, and to all a good night!


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